Sepp was as good
as his word, as he had been cooking up something on that stove
as we talked. What Sarah had brought me had been cooking on another
stove entirely, and while the 'porridge' she brought – sweetened
heavily with honey – was both tasty and helping, Sepp's
'masterpiece' helped even more. I soon found out what Sarah had been
using, that being one of those small pots we'd found earlier and one
of those pocket-sized stoves.

“I cleaned those
off with some stove-fuel, then used a few small pieces of that stuff
we found earlier under it on that tray,” she said. “That pot
worked decent at the least.”

“When..?”

“While you
slept,” she said. “The stove fuel got all that grease off, then
those people outside were cleaning their things, so I used
some lye-water they'd just done up to get the greasy taste
off. It just took some boiling water then, and they had that –
that and some porridge-grains, which I had bagged up in my
satchel.”

“Grind those up
at the house proper?” I suspected that location wasn't the only
one in the area now, as two more of those particular grinders had
gone out since my return from the trip. I had a batch of three more
in the 'casting' stage, and was hoping to machine the pieces at the
Abbey after the next trip. The patterns for casting the things, as
well as the gages I'd made with the first one, were now entirely
proving their worth; and with good machines, I'd most likely
be able to make both larger examples and better-working
examples as well.

“They did before
that last trip, though I think they do much better now that they have
one of your grinders,” said Sarah. “It might be a small
thing as such grinders go, but it is faster than many burr-stones
used by millers up here.”

“Those things
are no good for flour,” said Karl's mush-mouthed voice, “even if
they are good enough for this.”

“And beer,”
said Sarah. “The one at home does short work of the mash needed
for a ten-jug batch, which is how much beer we make now when we make
it.”

“T-ten jugs?”
I gasped. I'd been far too busy since the trip's return to even help
once.

“I help out more
often than not, now that you've been as busy as you've been,” said
Sarah. “I'm glad you left such notes as you did in your ledger,
even if the handwriting I saw is much better than yours usually is.”

“Where?” I
asked.

“I think Anna
had this copied out of your notes,” said Sarah, “as I saw the
original writing, which was done with a writing dowel, and then her
copy, which was done with ink at the house by Kees – or so I
suspect, anyway.”

“It was him,”
said Katje. “He made three copies that I know of, as Maria showed
me one of them and told me of the other two.”

After first
eating, then visiting the privy, I found my vial of Geneva – and
asked that the stuff become what Sarah's relatives were now
making with the new still they'd gotten recently. Uncorking it
nearly caused me to spew upon the instant of my doing so, as the
reek, while it resembled that which I recalled, was in another class
entirely when it came to causing both the desire to vomit...

And comment on the
part of those further away. I let Sarah take charge of the vial,
then as I removed the upper portion of my shirt, I heard gasps on the
part of both Sarah and Katje – as well as indecipherable
muttering on the part of Karl.

“Now that
is what a roer would do,” said Sepp confidently. “I've seen
what those things do.”

“That is not
a roer's bruise,” spat Sarah. “I've no idea what would
cause a bruise like that, but that is not the work of a roer.” A
pause, then with teeth gritted, “I know what a roer can do
to one's shoulder.”

“A p-pig-load?”
I muttered through gritted teeth as Sarah uncorked the vial and
saturated a rag. She then turned away, set the vial down, and sank
to her knees after giving the rag to Katje – who did much the same
after laying the rag on my shoulder. It was obvious I would need to
rub myself, and the ghastly fumes made me choke back vomit – at
least until something blew the fumes away, or rather, into the
horrible bruise.

“I think that
is, urgh, working,” said Maarten. “You will want some of this,
Karl, as it...” Maarten paused, then looked around in a bewildered
fashion. “Karl?”

“He ran for the
privy,” said Sepp, who had just befouled a rag with his own vomit.
“That stuff could make a dead pig spew at both ends.”

“Yes, and I
think it could, urp...” Maarten turned, then pitched forward to
vomit into a rag he'd gotten from somewhere, then staggered to his
feet to run into the maze.

I was having my
own struggles with trying not to vomit, so much so that only when the
fumes had further dissipated to a degree did I notice the
near-complete sense of 'I'm a lot better, even if I do feel
really nauseated'. Touching my shoulder, however, showed a
total lack of pain, and when the but-slightly-damp rag came off my
shoulder to then fall into my lap, I looked at my shoulder in the
hazy glow of a lantern set upon the floor.

“Where did they
all go?” I asked.

“Everyone except
you is now crowding that privy,” said the soft voice, “or rather,
water-closet if you name it as they say overseas, and while that one
cannot 'flash', both of those bowls can hold and drain vomit.”

“Shouldn't that
be, uh, 'flush'?” I asked.

“Those did that
where you came from, and took their time doing it as a rule,” said
the soft voice. “Wait until you use one in that place, and
you'll understand what's meant by 'flash' – especially if it's a
bad one.”

“Sounds like
trouble,” I muttered, as I stood shakily. I was off to find one of
those assembled carts left in the maze.

I quickly found
Karl's string that he'd left behind him in his haste to visit the
'water-closet', then began branching off of it to find those
already-assembled vehicles that I had noted earlier on the map. The
first and furthest-from-the-string example proved to have three tall
round tins laying on it, these labeled as having 'ready-mounted cart
tires', and I was glad I'd brought my broom, as I'd found more of
that nasty tungsten, this scattered thickly all over the floor in the
region around the cart.

I 'blasted' it,
and while I kept my 'bursts' short – three 'burps' that
melded into one, nearly – I could audibly hear not only the screams
as the tungsten 'died', but also yells coming from behind me. I put
the broom on the cart, swapped ends such that I had the towing handle
in my hand, then began to tow it back to the string so the others
could pick it up.

Sarah got there
before I did, though. Her voice shook audibly when she next spoke.

“That time I saw
what you did, and it looked like lightning flashing,” she said,
“and then it sounded just like my dream!”

“The one of a,
uh, machine-gun?” I asked, as I let her have the cart and took up
my broom. “Those things in the tins there tires for these things,
even if I think the ones on this cart here are decent still.” I
then noticed I hadn't oiled the thing, and got out my oil vial from
where I'd laid my possible bag on the cart.

“These will wait
for oil until we can get them to where there is room,” said Sarah.
“I can hear no noises, so I think if you get them out to where
there is room, then those of us with that oil can dose their wheels.”

I hunted down the
other four 'loose' carts while the others returned one after another
following along Karl's string, and when I brought back the last
'loose' cart I could find, the string was gone. I was
momentarily confused, so much so that when I nearly 'banged into' a
pallet draped with a dark green cover-cloth, I wondered what it was.
After taking the cloth off, I knew why it had been so draped,
as that drapery had hidden a pair of metal poles hung thickly with
rubbery-looking 'suits', these with long dark-cloth-surrounded brass
zippers amid billows of thick and rubbery-seeming 'cloth'. I threw
the cover back over them in a hurry.

“G-gas
clothing,” I spluttered, as I moved the cart along toward the
doorway at a shambling stumble. The pallet next to what I had just
recovered, however, was stacked with large boxes that looked
like huge ammunition containers, but proved much lighter than
expected when I hefted one. I laid the first one I grabbed onto the
cart, then undid its four latches. I could tell by its feel that no
witch had ever touched this particular box, for some
reason – and when I opened it and the faint light of my lantern
dimmed drastically, I closed it again in all possible haste.

It wasn't because
of the dimming of my lantern, but another reason entirely, and
I almost had put the box back on the pile when I heard careful steps
slowly coming closer.

“What did you
find?” asked the voice of Sarah. I could tell she was 'looking'
carefully for me, as I could see the lights of two lanterns, one in
each of her hands; she was pausing at each juncture in the maze to
look, this in hopes of seeing me more readily.

“Here, dear,”
I said softly, as I heaved the lighter-than-it-looked container back
onto the pile. I hoped I would never see that kind of equipment
again, at least until Sarah suddenly showed.

“What is in
there?” she asked. She indicated what I had just put back on the
pile. I could almost see my handprints upon it, and I
wondered if Sarah could see them. I wondered for a moment if
she was seeing 'red' handprints, much as if I had been 'caught while
being red-handed'.

That was a
most-common line in the Grim Collection, if I went by what I had
heard from a number of sources – and it was used to describe the
behavior of both men and witches.

“A
r-respirator,” I gasped. “It l-looks h-h-horrible, and I have
waking nightmares looking at it...”

“Bring it down
and let me look at it,” she said. “I doubt...” She
then paused, and asked quietly, even more so than before, “why?”

“L-long
p-pig,” I gasped, as I choked back tears. “They t-tried to
s-smother me...”

“I think I need
not see it then,” said Sarah. “I recall reading something
on more than one tapestry about how marked people were tortured, and
that...” Sarah then hitched, and squeaked, “long pig?
What does that mean?”

“What some
witches named their meals,” mumbled Katje, as she came closer so as
to 'find' Sarah. I was amazed I could hear her so clearly. “Some
called them that where he came from. Here, I have no idea as to what
they named such vile repasts.”

“I do,” said
Sarah. “Now was this thing black?”

“Y-yes,” I
gasped, “with a b-big black mask, and a c-cylinder of gas,
and-and-and...”

“Did it have
much shiny piping, and a large clear cylinder full of this
strange-looking purplish granular material?” asked Sarah.
“Many valves, these having stranger-yet shapes and bright colors
for their handles?”

“Y-yes,” I
gasped – and I then shook my head and said, “no, it isn't
one of those, even if the resemblance to what was used on me
as a child a large number of times was close enough to feel it
happening all over again.”

“How many
bottles?” asked Sarah. “Those I read of had several, all of them
painted bright colors.”

“N-not this
one,” I said shakily. “There was a single silvery-colored one,
one with a green stripe around it, and...”

“Were we not
going across the sea,” said Sarah calmly, “I would almost want
one of those things, as there's something in one of those medical
books that was used for surgery...”

“I think they
called what they did to him that,” said Katje dryly, “but
those witches lied better than any of their like who ever lived here,
as their goal was not what they said it to be, but another thing
entirely – one that those witches found in the past here named
most-clearly and most-precisely, such that they hid nothing from
either themselves or their prey.”

“E-erasure,” I
gasped. The word I actually said meant 'to rub out' in what I
now spoke, and in at least one language spoken then by witches, the
sound of that word was somewhat similar.

Its meaning,
however, was the precise same thing, that being ostensibly 'to
rub out' – and also 'to murder', though the latter phrase was
reserved for what witches did in 'our' language.

There were a lot
of far-more-common phrases used for what was done to witches,
and I'd heard my share of such phrases in recent months. I suspected
I'd hear more of such language in the future.

“Thank you,”
said Katje. “That was the exact word they used, and I'm not
certain I can say it.” A pause, then, “across the sea, though,
if you see something being used like what you recall...”

“N-n-no,” I
gasped. I nearly screamed., such was the strength of my tormenting
recollections.

“I meant to say
the commons there would not intend it the way those
witches did where you came from, and I can say that for a
fact,” said Katje. “Only one thing I can be more certain
of, and that is that if Anna learned of what they have over there
after today, she'd do anything short of become a meal for Brimstone
to get one, as then she'd be able to do things she's dreamed of many
times, ever since she gave oath in church as a child.”

“She might well
wish this thing, also,” said Sarah. “It might be possible to
make it work like what I've seen in those books downstairs at home
and on that tapestry I had to bathe for.”

“They have
things like that which need no such work,” said Katje, “and
I suspect seeing one of those would not make him faint like he nearly
did just now.” Katje then looked at me, and said, “and I think
you'll want a dose of the bull formula or the nearest thing to it
before you think to look at such equipment again.”

“I do have that
handy,” said Sarah. “Now I think you need such a dose as well as
some beer, as I can almost see heat-waves coming off of you again.”

“Best give him a
full tube if you do that,” said Katje, as she took the cart from
me. “I paid out my own string, as I came upon an entire pile of
nothing but string on the way back from that smelly privy, and
I got three thick bundles of it.”

“B-bundles?” I
asked. My mouth was beginning to tingle around its edges, which was
a sign I only now remembered as being one of acute and
terrible danger. It meant I needed to get a dose of honey
right away, and I went past the two women and blundered
into an aisleway. It was all I could do to not trip over my own two
feet, I had become so clumsy, and when someone grabbed me and then
put a vial of thick and sticky burning liquid – it was a
particularly fiendish version of napalm, most likely that type which
burned steadily until its victims were ash, and that no matter what
they did to extinguish it – to my lips, I seemed to 'faint'...

To then come to
myself on my rump and leaning up against the wall, stickiness about
my lips and the odor of beer close to hand. I looked down to see my
cup with a sliced-up yellow-fruit in it, and a jug next
to it.

“Now those three
have gone to fetch beer, and they took all of Katje's rope with
them,” said Sarah as she came next to me, “as that is the last of
it there, and you needed it so as to live and not die.” Sarah
sounded more than a little 'frightened'. “Sepp caught you just
in time, and he must have known where I put my satchel, as he was
putting the honey to you by the time I caught up a short time
later.” A pause, then, “and I have no idea why Katje called
those things bundles, as they are not those things, but another
entirely.”

“What could
I call them?” asked Katje. “I had no words for something as
large for diameter as a Public House plate, as wide as my hand for
thickness and with a hole in the center for a stick, and utterly
filled with this thin greenish rope!”

“That sounds
like a spool, actually,” said Sarah. “They're rare enough up
here that they need special ordering from certain shops in that
fourth kingdom market town.” A pause. “You would only wish
those things filled with thread if you regularly made
clothing by the numbers, leastways for that size of spool.”
Another pause, then “Tam told me that some who sell thread up here
buy thread on such large spools in white and tan and brown and green,
and then use the usual farmer-carved sticks so as to pay one guilder
to earn five by selling thread.”

“More than that,
dear,” said the soft voice. “You'll want to spend some
time in that pile today at the least, as what Katje found is rope,
and there are a lot of different sizes of string and thread there –
including some you'll find useful for sewing in the very near
future.”

“Barter, also –
at least where we're going,” I croaked. “There are some
bagged-up spools in there that would fit in your hands readily, and
those bags are the ones you want for both your sewing and trading
over there.”

“Why?” asked
Sarah.

“That dark
thread we've seen today is but one color of thread in that
size,” I said mysteriously. “There are several others,
even if white is a rare color in that bag or those next to
it.”

“That color is
another type of thread entirely, and it's in a separate bag on a
different pallet,” said the soft voice. “It and some other
materials are used to repair the wearable portion of that gas
equipment.”

“What is this?”
asked Katje. “Gas? As in a gaseous fumigant?”

“Yes, dear,” I
said. I felt much better, and I now wondered if I had been dosed.
As if Sarah had then read my mind, I suddenly received a
nasty-tasting squirt of that one vial's contents in my mouth, and
then was crowded with beer so as to 'get it into me'.

“You already
gave him some, didn't you?” asked Katje.

“Yes, but when
you're about ready to live in a rest house on top of nearly
having that type of fit, you can use all of that kind of medicine you
can stand,” said Sarah. “Liza taught me that, and those books
said much the same, even if Anna knew that more by what she'd learned
apart from those smelly things her mother and grandmother filled with
lies.”

“T-torture
d-drugs?” I asked.

“You do not
want those,” said Sarah solemnly. “Only a witch would dose
someone about to live in a rest-house with those things, as they were
only used to punish people. They did not help.”

“They make fits
worse, also,” said Katje. “They were known for
doing that, in fact – and that both here and where he came
from.” Katje then looked at me, and asked, “you were dosed with
those things there, weren't you?”

I nodded, this
dumbly – and now, numbly. I was so 'numb' that I actually
felt curious as to what that respirator looked like, as I wondered
if it might help someone if we took one with us.

“Do those thugs
have, uh, lacrimatory agents?” I asked silently. I was having
trouble speaking.

“They do,”
said the soft voice, “but no thug you're likely to run into has any
idea as to not merely what those strange-looking 'bombs' actually
are, but also where they are currently 'locked up' – and
then, none of them have any training as to how to use those
things, much less the needed 'clearances' so as to get access
to them.”

“Hence they'd
most likely fumigate themselves if they found those things,”
I thought.

“Worse than
that, actually,” said the soft voice. “There are some
very good reasons why those thugs use their sticks so much,
and it's not just because sticks are silent and don't need
reloading.”

“Are they really
clumsy?” I asked. This was but on the threshold of audibility,
with slow-moving lips.

“Some few are a
bit worse than you are when you're tired, and those
people usually get promoted in a hurry,” said the soft
voice. “The average blue-suited silver-collared thug is so
clumsy that he needs years of daily training and long and
exhaustive exercises to develop the capacity with those clubs that
you saw exhibited in your dream.”

“And if they use
something they haven't spent years being trained to use?” I asked.
This time it was audible.

“Why do you
think they'll 'fall' for practically every trap you can dream up?”
said the soft voice. “You may have 'good' results here against
witches, at least thus far, but over there... It's a rare
blue-suited thug indeed, one in many thousands, who won't fall for
traps that most witches of moderate experience here would laugh
at.” A pause, then, “though if you do find one of those
'one-in-ten-thousand' blue-suited thugs, he'll still most likely get
caught out just the same, just like most witches here would.”

“I think that to
be calling the pot black when it has an inch of soot to its outside
and charcoal filling its inside,” said Sarah. “They may have
some people in the Valley who know traps, and know them well, but
most people in the five kingdoms are...”

“Finding a witch
in the Valley who's decent with traps is almost as easy as finding
two entire-white ravens in the same year,” said the soft
voice. “A most-common and trustworthy saying there, especially
among those of the Rooster Totem, is 'those who turn witch lose
their minds'.”

“They become
crazy?” I asked softly.

“More like they
become as if they were fit to wear brass cones,” said Sarah. “That
phrase translates very poorly into our language.”

“That also,”
said the soft voice. “It is very rareto find
someone in the Valley who practices witchcraft to any degree outside
of a handful of 'occupations' – and none of them involve
working with either the mind or the hands.”

“Then who
are they?” asked Sarah. “Those who 'run' settlements or towns?”

“The most common
post for witches, in fact,” said the soft voice, “is a position
of leadership of sufficient rank that such individuals can have all
of their work and thinking done for them, more or less.”

“They
concentrate on what they can do well, then,” I murmured. I
was of a mind to go hunting up one of those respirators now, as I
suspected I would see their like again – if not here, then
overseas. More, there were some other things among the
'chemical equipment' that we could use now, and we'd either
want such equipment for the trip, or learn something useful from my
looking at it – and that beyond what had been spoken of regarding
the handling of accursed tungsten shot.

“Like some
stink-bombs, perhaps,” I thought. “They have to test that
gas gear somehow, and I'll bet those strange 'boxes' I saw earlier
were the test-chambers.”

“Now what could
a witch do well?” asked Sarah. “I've seen enough of those people
in the five kingdoms to know there isn't much they're good for beyond
causing trouble.”

“The
less-impaired examples receive most-needed help with such
matters,” said the soft voice. “Those that are more-impaired...”
Brief pause. “Those people mostly 'show themselves' when they
need to, and otherwise stay well-hidden and thoroughly
'trashed' every waking minute.”

“They're
trashed?” I asked. While 'trashed' was an uncommon idiom in
the language spoken in the five kingdoms, I knew my use of it wasn't
merely 'slang'. There were a lot of similar terms referring
to 'severe intoxication', most of them otherwise having to do with
refuse, scrap, ruined meals, various species of dung, or worthless
equipment. “How?”

“Most likely
weed-bundles and Snurf,” said Sarah, “and if someone uses either
of those things much at all, he might endure as long as
someone who drinks the very worst species of forty-chain, and that
daily.”

“B-both
m-materials?” I asked.

“I suspect such
people do not do at all well,” said Sarah. “What's sold
in fifth kingdom drink-houses is bad enough, but if they are sucking
on weed-bundles and breathing in Snurf – they are well-beyond the
level of intoxication common to mining-town thugs, even when those
thugs have just drained full jugs of strong drink each.”

“Which is why
they do little beyond show themselves when their underlings tell them
to, and otherwise stay hidden in their rooms,” said the soft voice.
“They aren't able to do much beyond that, save when it is
time to actually do witch-work.” A pause, then, “they're
not to be trifled with then, and the more-inhabited examples actually
last quite some time.”

“How long would that be?” asked
Katje.

“If they don't overindulge on a
routine basis, then quite a few years,” said the soft voice. “If
they do routinely overindulge, though – that depends on just
how inhabited they are.” A pause, then, “the worst of them
approach Cardosso's level of infestation, so they can last
nearly as long as if they were one of their non-indulging underlings
– someone who consumes nothing
of an intoxicating nature, as their
work demands much thinking and
quick reactions.”

“I hope those trashed witches don't
know as much as that stinker Cardosso did,” I muttered.

“Some of them have heard
about him,” said the soft voice, “but beyond that knowledge, they
don't know much at all about
Cardosso.” A pause, then, “however, what they do
know isn't a joke, and more than one of them has killed black-dressed
witches by means of 'witchcraft'.”

“Then they are
witches indeed,” said Sarah.

“As much or more
by suggestion as curse-power, dear,” said the soft voice. “The
sum total of the Valley's curse-knowledge might fill a shorter
chapter in a smaller black book – but what the Valley's witches
know that way, they know very well as a rule.” A pause,
then, “be glad capable examples are so rare there, as then
most of those people would be witches, rather than a small but
powerful minority.”

“That...” I
was speechless upon hearing this, as to my thinking, if the leaders
of a community were witches, then all of those under them
would wish to be like them.

“That's
generally only true here when those leaders have a populace
groomed by many years of systematic training, this laid by a
succession of other witches before their time – and those
leaders appear to those under them such that their 'commons' wish
to be as they are,” said the soft voice. “Neither situation
prevails in the Valley, unlike in the five kingdoms – where both
situations – in combined form – commonly prevail.” A
pause, then, “on the other hand, where you came from only needed
people inclined toward evil, which was – and always has
been, at least for the vast majority – their natural
state.”

“It isn't the
usual here?” I asked.

“It once
was,” said Katje. “Most of those people died in the
drowning, and much of the remainder died out during that war long
ago.”

“And the rest
of them turned witch,” said Sarah – who implied by her tone that
everyone in the five kingdoms either was a witch, or
wished to be one. Given what the book said on the matter, I
found that very easy to believe – that, and what I'd seen
since coming here. “Now you look to be up to resuming what you
were doing, but I am inclined to set tight until those three get
themselves back here with the...”

Sarah ceased
speaking, as suddenly Sepp hove into view. His quiet was a marvel,
at least until I saw what he had put on his boots, this being laced
leather strips crossing in a gridwork pattern. I wondered for a
moment why he'd done so, as I suspected quiet wasn't the
reason – even if what he did gave me an idea as to what
would be needed for the hard floors found overseas so as to silence
our footwear's noisier tendencies. I'd almost want to take a pair of
common shoes for that time, save they had no traction on
slippery surfaces – and blood and gore often proved very
slippery indeed. He turned, then spoke into the darkness.

“Go slow down
those stairs, there,” he said. “They're trouble going
down, even if going up those things isn't near as bad.”

“It isn't?” I
asked. I'd had trouble with spiraling stairs here no matter how
they twisted, and that up and down.

Sepp then turned
to me, and I saw how he'd managed to haul what looked like a sizable
leather pack. I was about to ask him where he'd gotten it
when he said, “now those people doing these things must have been
working the fourth kingdom's hours, as they brought by all of these
things 'cept the ones for you two.”

“He already has
one,” said Sarah. “I had no idea one was being done for
me.”

“Yours is
finishing up, or so that man said,” said Sepp, “and I hope
neither Maarten or Karl stumbles going down that staircase, as both
of 'em's got packs filled with jugs and fresh-baked bread-loaves.”
Here, Sepp doffed his pack, and laid it on the ground before undoing
the flap. “They saved the drawings to yours that you made, and
that new gaffer there made patterns off of 'em.”

“Strange
patterns, ones of brass that have pieces which can be moved?” asked
Sarah.

“He said they
were like that,” said Sepp, “and he had to figure the ones for
women out different, on account of them being different.”

“Smaller,
slightly different shape...”

“Not by what he
told me, even if you're right about the smaller and different parts,”
said Maarten as he showed with a pack. “Karl is right behind me,
as he is turning that thing to gather up that rope, and I had to
watch my feet so as to not fall by walking on it, it is so slippery.”

“It may be slick
stuff for the touch, but it holds knots good,” said Karl as
he came up with an obvious 'spool' on a stout stick. If anything,
Katje had sold the thing short of both size and width. “This one
here had enough rope on it to get us all the way into the Upper Alley
and in sight of that doorway, so I laid it down in the shadows behind
one of those columns so no one would see it, as some might think it
witch-rope were they to see this stuff.”

“Witch-rope?”
I asked.

“Yes, its
color,” said Karl. “It might not be black, but it looks
black in any light that isn't strong.” A pause, then, “and if
one puts a fresh lantern on it, one just brightened, then it
is this strange green that changes colors, almost.”

“That is special
rope, all right,” said Sarah. “Rachel made sure some went with
them on that trip, and she carried some her-own-self.”

“About thirty
feet or so, actually,” said the soft voice. “She reckoned it to
be very important, and she was right, especially when they had to
construct temporary bridges over several 'hot' streams.”

“Hot?” I
asked. “R-radioactive?”

“That stream you
put that bomb in while breaking out of the fifth kingdom house was a
passable approximation of what they needed to cross those times,”
said the soft voice, “and they were lucky to find some fuse and a
few caps but hours before crossing the first one, as they foiled a
tracking party of witches by setting one of those foul-smelling
things alight while the witches were crossing it.” A pause, then,
“now some more food for all of you, and you can get the rest
of those carts.”

While I got my
share of beer and bread, I also took two breaks to go on the hunt for
tungsten on the way to and from the privy, and in both instances,
while I kept my 'bursts' short and to the point, I came back
uncommonly sore. Karl was getting nervous just hearing my
moans and groans when I came back each time, even if I went off by
myself close to the stairwell to first rub myself with the latest
version of 'Komaet' and then spew; when I came back from the privy
the second time, he said, “I hope that thing is not as bad as what
you are doing, as then I will wish what you use instead, and that
loaded for swine.”

“No, Karl, you
will not wish that rifle loaded for swine,” said Sarah.
“You would need three of those medical people across the sea
working on you if you did that, as it would break your shoulder as if
I'd used a flail on it.”

I could hear Karl
gasp, then mutter, “I hope I do not get caught by a woman who can
use one of those things.”

“You won't,”
said Katje knowingly. “Other than Sarah, I know of perhaps three
people in the area who know what one of those things is, and
she's the only one good enough with one of those to be trouble.”

“No, I think
Gustav might know how to use one,” said Sarah, “though I doubt he
uses his much.”

“And you'll have
the sticks for one o' them things coming after today,” said Sepp.
“Now are you planning on breaking them like Dennis breaks clubs? I
saw several sets of the wood pieces for those.”

“I asked for two
sets, one for regular use and another in case the rope broke and I
lost the fast end,” said Sarah, “but I had no idea they were
making... How many pieces did you see?”

“At least ten
pairs,” said Sepp. “They were drying in that room the
boatwright's shop uses to make their varnish set up quick.”

“I'd probably
thump myself with one if I tried,” I muttered. “I'll stick to
clubs, thank you.”

“They had more
of them too,” said Sepp. “They're making those things by
the numbers any more, on account of how you turn those things into
kindling faster than Georg than does when he's smelling pigs.”

“I'll wrap one
with rags so you can try it,” said Sarah. “My cousin didn't have
the time to learn them as I did, even if she did not lack for
dexterity.”

“Those?” I
gasped.

“There are ways
that just use the handles, one in each hand,” said Sarah. “It
might not be the rope trick as Tam understands it, but I've heard of
people using them that way just the same, and I suspect you
can manage that, even if I think you'll wish rags for padding
if you want to try them otherwise.” A pause, then in drier voice,
“I had best keep them clear of Anna when the rats start,
though, as I fear for her safety should she find one.”

“W-why?” I
asked.

“Because you
have not seen her when the rats are bad,” said Karl. “I
have heard about how she gets then, and calling her ready for a long
stay in a rest-house is calling Georg calm after he gets wind of a
pig.” A pause, then, “and I am not sure I want her using this
fowling piece, not unless I can keep the stiff shot away from her.”

“Uh, why?” I
asked.

“She will shoot
holes in the furniture,” said Karl. “I somehow saw her turn the
couch into a big mess with that thing, and then the walls had holes
big enough to pass marmots when she got close to a rat.”

“I think she'd
best stick to one of those short muskets then,” said Sepp. “She
should do well with one of those.”

“N-not if
they...” I gasped. The next part was silent. “Do those have
fully-automatic capability?”

“Yes, and
they're a lot more controllable than anything else you'll find
in here that is that way,” said the soft voice, “even if you'll
think the term 'machine-pistol' to be a misnomer when you try one.”

“Uh, why?” I
asked.

“Think,” said
the soft voice. “Remember that one 'awful-feeling' weapon you
fired once? They're much closer to one of those
for range and stopping power than what the word 'machine-pistol'
implies, which is why Sarah spoke of them like she did.”

“Best teach Anna
about not putting that selector on 'R',” I muttered.
“She'll really tear the place up then – probably turn
loose a whole magazine at a time.”

“No, she won't,”
said the soft voice. “Those are a good deal more accurate than
that one weapon of that type you once tried, so she'll make one
small hole should she miss.” A pause, then, “she won't miss very
often, either – though Hans will be very busy patching holes
in the walls just the same.”

“Why?” I
asked. “Lots of rats?”

“You were not
here last year,” said Sarah. “I was, and I was tossing cookware
daily at those things – and when I'd ran out of cookware fit
to toss, I tossed potatoes and turnips, and she made me look
calm indeed for that business.”

“No loss for the
turnips,” said Karl. “I've got no idea what they will do at the
house proper, though, as that place has swarms of rats in places now,
and it has stone walls, so one needs fowling pieces unless one wants
to jump for the floor all the time for screaming bullets.”

“Perhaps
common-sized shot, or some a bit smaller than that which is common in
the area?” I murmured. “Now I wonder if there are more of those
weapons?”

While there was no
answer to that question then,
I got one of sorts when I came back from a third trip to the privy.
I'd thinned out that cursed tungsten shot to such a degree that I
knew I would need to 'shoulder arms' but a few times more so as to
get rid of all of it, and before doing so, I'd wish to bag up
a sack of the stuff so as to show the people overseas who were
inclined toward 'wolfram' as to just what we had to offer them on the
premises.

I wondered for a
minute if showing them a sack of that stuff would be called an
inducement of sorts, and when I spoke of the matter to both Sarah and
Katje, the former spluttered, “I think so! You'll have them
come up here to get it faster than anything short of one of these
weird flying things they once had that looked like long bars
of green-colored soap, and when they learn how much of it's on the
premises, they'll stay for the duration.”

“Much more than
that, dear,” said the soft voice. “People may be giving
face-down oaths in church when they leave their homes in the fourth
kingdom, but compared to those where you're going, you'll think such
people utter oafs and laggardly fools more interested in turning
witch than all else.”

“How?” asked
Sarah.

“Just wait until
you see what happens,” said the soft voice enigmatically. “They'll
jump so fast for the ceiling when they see that bluish fire show
itself that you'll think them newly escaped from premature burial
or Desmond-filled witch-holes.”

“Oh, no,”
I muttered. “They don't have that one, do they?” I meant
a particular story, one I had read long ago. It made for the
shudders then.

“Intact and such
that it can be read now, no,” said the soft voice. “They
do have all the pieces to it and a great deal more of similar
vein, so once they get time on their machinery, they'll set it
to running in very short order once they've done something
about the food troubles they've been having.” A pause,
then, “I'd go fetch out those carts, as while you might not be
fully recovered from 'killing' that wolfram shot, you can hand
off their assembly to the others.”

“And then I can
go after more of that stuff once I get some bagged up,” I muttered,
as I stood up and crossed the small 'foyer', lantern in hand.

The first pallet
of those I checked did not have the carts in question, even if the
green-painted 'canisters' I found stacked chest-high on it spoke of a
vast number of wheels and tires; and the same applied for the second
pallet – which had more canisters like the first one. The
third, however, had a waist-high pile of dark mottled green cloth
'sacks', these with straps that permitted ready carrying; and while
each such sack weighed twenty pounds or more, I had no idea as to
just what I had found until I took the first example into the
clustered lantern-light shed by a quartet of lanterns hanging from
those lampstands that I had used while greasing the larger carts.
There, and only there did I find out that the 'carrying pouches' for
these carts were once more done in that strange black-edged mottled
green camouflage – and upon loosing the three button-closed straps
holding it closed, I found that indeed, I'd gotten a knocked-down
cart.

Inside a sealed
fiber-reinforced plastic pouch, this looking like a huge
zip-lock bag. The red-blue-red striping where the bag closed was
clear and unmarred, indicating that these examples were yet 'factory
sealed', complete with a bright-green-lettered preservative packet;
while I began perusing the 'instruction-sheet' through the yet
unopened 'bag', I found myself interrupted within less than a minute.

“This
thing is just like those you found upstairs, only a lot less dirty,”
said Sepp. “I can put these together easy, 'cause they're
clean and those others had dust and dirt on 'em to hide their marks.”

“You can?” I
asked.

As if to 'show me
the error of my ways', Sepp – with Karl's help – began to
assemble the one I had brought out once I'd indicated how to 'break
the seal'; and if anything, what we had been told about these things
was a misnomer as to how quick and easy they were to put together.

“They're marked
here, so they're tied,” said Sepp as he noiselessly slid the three
pieces of the cart's 'floor' together, “and then they have their
perches already put together, so they go on each end...”

“They've got
places for a hitching pole on each end, too,” muttered Karl, “and
those upstairs only had one hitching pole to them...”

“These here have
two,” said Sepp, as he brought out two obvious tubular 'handles'.
“Look around in that pile some more, as I'll bet these things have
got spades just like a regular buggy for traveling does.”

I went back to the
'pile', and while the 'spades' didn't show that trip, or the one
after it, a telltale sack showed on the third trip I made. This sack
showed dark in the lantern's light, but once it and the knocked-down
cart were out among the pair of lampstands, I was able to read its
sewn-on label.

“Heads for
entrenching shovels?” I murmured.

“I thought so,”
said Katje. “Now is that one knotted fit for a grandmother, or can
you open it?”

The sack was
removed from my hands not two seconds later – before I could check
to see if it was tied closed or not, in fact – and in the light of
the lampstands, I saw not merely another pair of carts going
together, but also, Sepp was admiring an unusually small
'shovel-head'.

“Best shovel for
digging privies I ever saw,” he said. “It's light, too,
and it's got an edge as good as some swine-spears.”

“Not one of
those fetishes,” said Sarah. “They're lucky if they have
edges.”

“No, I meant a
good spear, one of those things that Lukas said he'd seen a
few of down somewhere in the third kingdom,” said Sepp. “They
have some down there that were old when Cardosso was a baby, or so he
said.”

“Then...”
Sarah paused, flustered-sounding, then asked “where?”

“He said they
kept those hidden among their wine-casks, as everyone in the
house proper knows where those are,” said Sepp. “I don't
wonder about that, even if I do wonder why they'd put spears
among those stinky things and not where they can look after them
good.”

“Spears are not
fit weapons for fighting mounted brigands armed with rotten cannons,”
said Katje. “I hope I can borrow one of these spades, as it
might help some.”

“There are other
spades in here,” I murmured. “Granted, they aren't as small and
as convenient for use as these, nor do they come apart, but they do
have spades in here...” I paused, then said, “or they did,
anyway.” A second pause, then, “did those witches steal those?”

“No, as they
were worthless as fetishes and that one witch said they'd not last
three days out in the turnip patches,” said the soft voice. “He
was right about the first part, and totally wrong about the
second.”

“They'd not last
that long?” I gasped.

“They'd wear out
fairly soon, but they would last a lot longer
than three days,” said the soft voice. “They're not as tough as
what you-all found in those last two rooms upstairs, as these weren't
intended for long hard days dealing with either Vrijlaand's jungles
or long hard days dealing with double-drunk curse-spewing
witches tending true-turnips.” A pause, then, “they are
durable enough to stand up to truly hard use, though, and
they're a lot lighter than any tool you've seen or heard of
like them.”

“Hard?” I
asked.

“About what your
average first-kingdom farmer would manage, actually,” said the soft
voice. “Save in certain regions, the soil in this area
isn't that tough to dig in – and unlike a typical first
kingdom spade, these were intended to be carried a lot.”

“Hence they
worried about ounces on them,” said Sarah. “I might have seen
pictures of these things.” A pause, then, “I'm not sure we need
them now.”

“No,
but you will wish them shortly after you get back, and you can
use a decent spade now where you live,” said the soft
voice. “More importantly, compared to any common spade past or
present, these things are most disinclined to rot or corrode.”

“What?”
squeaked Katje. “How?”

“What they're
made out of,” said the soft voice. “Vrijlaand's tools needed
regular waxing when used down there, even if they needed no
such care up here.” Pause. “These didn't need such care,
even if they were battered into uselessness inside of six
months when they were used to clear that place's jungles.”

“That is not
trivial,” said Sarah. “I suspect no spade made today would
endure as well, even if it was one made in Badwater.”

“Those would
need daily 'greasing', but otherwise, you're right,” said
the soft voice. “These spades would last longer, and not a little
longer, given that much use – and that kind of use.” A
pause, then, “up here, they'd last many years, even given
complete and total neglect.”

“No spade lasts
that long, even if it is looked after carefully and gets tool cleaner
painted on when it is not being used,” said Karl. “I have yet to
see a plow manage four years up here, and that is when it came from
the fourth kingdom and was looked after good.”

“Those are not
very good,” said Sepp emphatically. I suspected Lukas had told him
about their true nature, until he continued speaking. “About the
only real difference for plows I've seen is some cost a lot more than
others and are a little easier to work on when they break, at least
until those three in the shop get done.”

“Those
will last longer than four years,” said Karl. “I am not sure how
long they will last, but they will not fall apart in four
years.”

I let the
conversation go, as I had more carts to fetch, and only when I'd
cleaned off the pallet entirely did I resume looking elsewhere in the
area. I had a suspicion that we wanted to take up at least half of
these smaller carts for ferrying 'loot' to the buggies that would be
waiting at or near the end of the day, and with this in mind, I
thought to look at those pallets of gas equipment once more.

I wanted to do
more than just look again at that respirator: I wanted some
'contamination gloves', some sample pouches, some of those plastic
containers that we could use for 'canteens' – we wanted satchels
full of those things– and possibly, one of those strange
suits so as to look closer at it.

“Maybe it will
give us some ideas,” I thought, as I went in search of that area
again. “Worst case, maybe Sarah will learn how they once put
together clothing intended to endure fumigation. I doubt she read
much about that on any tapestry.”

I found the suits
first, thinking to bring one of the things out so as to see it
better, then when I went back after the other items with one of those
dark green 'satchels', I could hear odd-sounding speech. I was so
involved in what I was looking for – I had found two small 'bags'
of obvious stamped titanium scoops which resembled small hand spades
of incomparable lightness as well as strength that was utterly
inappropriate to something that looked to be made of a heavier
species of silvery tinfoil; and I had an idea where some of
the other things were hiding – that when I heard Sarah laughing as
if crazed, I dropped everything and ran back to where I
had left her and the others.

While Karl and
Sepp were busily engaged in cart-assembly, Sarah was doubled up with
laughter; and when she was no longer laughing 'as if having a fit', I
noted neither Maarten or Katje were handy. I was about to ask where
the two of them were when I noted the suit I had brought out was
gone.

“Where..?” I
asked. I meant not merely where the two of our missing people had
gone – I was worried about stray tungsten shot, to be precise –
but also, what had happened to the suit itself. Sarah began laughing
again.

“Dear..?”

“She got into
that thing,” said Karl, “and I think she must think it is
Festival Week, that or she is a child again, as she jumped on him
right away.” Karl paused, mumbled something, then, “and if they
are like that, then I am worried, as I doubt I would last long with
someone acting like that.”

“What?”
I squeaked.

“She was sick
during Festival Week,” said Sarah, “and I think she decided to
try that thing on, as it did look likely.”

“Likely?” I
asked.

“Yes, it was a
good fit for her, much as if I sewed it to fit her specially,” said
Sarah, “and then she started chasing him.”

“Is th-that
normal?” I asked.

“I think so,”
said Sarah. “You've not seen Anna go after Hans much, have you?”

As if to supply a
rejoinder, I heard someone – female – yell in a muffled fashion,
followed by a giddy howl of laughter.

“Where are
they?” I asked nervously. “That shot...”

“You got all of
that stuff around here,” said Sarah. “Now I doubt much they have
anything like that small enough for me to fit in, as I'd go
hunt it up if they did.”

That had me
worried, and when I led Sarah back to where I had been looking, she
asked to see the boxes which had the respirators. I then asked, “I
hope she isn't going to smother in that thing. Will she?”

“No, because
that needs this other piece for the face,” said Sarah – who
seemed to be looking for the piece in question. “It most likely is
in one of those boxes.” Then, after a short pause “are these
those pouches used for holding samples?”

I turned to see
what Sarah had found, and noted she was holding her lantern by its
handle next to a bulky 'camouflage' satchel. “It says here,
'sample pouches, for toxic materials',” she said. A pause, then,
“this thing has ten of them inside, if I go by what it says for
their number.”

“We'll want two
of those things like that, then,” I said. “Besides, that
'satchel' there looks about right for carrying your things.”

“You're right
about its size and handles, but I doubt it is decent for how I did
the inside of my new one,” said Sarah. “Now you'll want those
containers spoken of for beer once you get that box down where I can
look at it on this cart, and if it's usable, we may want to put what
is in it on Katje.”

“On her?”
I asked. “Why?”

“That suit
looked very likely for Festival Week, and I think I want to
take one home for Anna,” said Sarah. “Worst case, she can wear
it when she must clean much using bad lye, as I've seen her
made sick from that stuff. This equipment would make it much easier
on her, especially when the place gets sooted up bad.” A pause,
then, “and if there's one sized for me and I must clean up a
sooty house again, then I shall wish one also, and that in all
its particulars – as bad lye tends to make me ill.”

I was able to get
the box down, and while Sarah was looking at its contents, I went
once more to look at the suits. To my astonishment, I found that
there were four sizes – including one size, the smallest, that
looked as if it might work for someone who was roughly Sarah's size –
but also, at the ends of each rack of suits, I found a sizable pouch
of 'repair supplies'. I brought back one of these pouches first, and
nearly 'choked' when I saw Sarah holding the mask. I nearly dropped
the pouch, I was so frightened.

“This is for a
gaseous fumigant,” she said, “and I suspect you're right about
how much work it would be to make it fit for use during surgery, as
those pictures did not look close to how this thing is.”

“Looks, no,” I
said. Looks did not help people during surgery. Even I had
an idea as to what did, and when I resumed speaking, I
mentioned it. “Functioning... That would be the chief trouble, as
well as getting suitable gases or liquids...”

Sarah looked at
me, then said in a near-whisper, “you're right. I have no
idea as to what would be used, or how to use it, and I know
Hans has no idea as to either of those things, and I doubt
Korn does, and Liza didn't, and...”

“Which is
another reason why you will wish what they have across the
sea,” said the soft voice. “What he could make would need
a lot of care and real skill to use, as the patient
would be hovering at the edge of death the entire time he or she was
'asleep' – and that presumes you could make those particular
drugs those books spoke of.” A pause, then, “what they have
across the sea is not only much safer, it also is much
easier to use.”

“Safer?” I
asked.

“Safer than
anything that was ever used on you that way,” said
the soft voice. “With their preferred materials, it's actually
very hard to kill the patient, unlike what was common where
you came from – and most of that equipment has sufficient
safeguards built into it that it prevents overdose, even if
the person is more or less ignorant of what they are doing.”

“But...”

“They get
students' hands 'messy' a lot sooner over there than where you
came from,” said the soft voice, “even if 'medical school'
currently involves eight busy years of year-round study
there.”

“That sounds
about right,” said Sarah. “The lower schools only shut during
the rest-day, church-day, Harvest Day, and Festival Week, and the
higher schools are much the same, if you count traipsing and the
trips home and back most students must make.” A pause, then, “and
it has been that way since the Curse if there were people fit to
teach others, if the tapestries tell the truth.”

“Which is how
they manage to do what they do in just eight years,” said
the soft voice. “It isn't like where you came from at all.”

“Much more
information...”

“That, and a
wider range of study,” said the soft voice. “They don't
have 'internships' there, at least the way you've heard about them.”

“What do they
do?” I asked.

“One, the usual
is to work on injured people in teams of three to five, with the most
experienced or most able person 'in charge',” said the soft voice,
“and then recall what I said about how that schooling is a lot
more 'hands on' than where you came from?”

“Y-yes?” I
asked.

“They might not
be working on people during the first year or two, but they
are doing surgery of sorts after the first month or
two,” said the soft voice. “The students first 'capture' vermin,
then 'do surgery' on the animals with more-advanced students
'supervising' those less-so, and instructors watching over the whole
proceedings, either in person or remotely, depending on what is being
done.”

“No dissection?”
I gasped.

“Given the way
that place is,” said the soft voice, as if chiding me
gently, “they don't need to do dissection.” A pause.
“They've got plenty of work to do on real patients,
and the students then put in practice what their studies involve.”

“And I wonder if
we can put this thing on Katje,” muttered Sarah. “I wonder
if..?”

“She's getting
out of that suit now,” said the soft voice. “She's had her
'spell' with Maarten.”

“And... Anna?”
I asked.

“That suit will
fit Anna, and you'll wish to put it and the other equipment on her
when she next must use lye, as Sarah has understated the case as to
how ill that material makes her,” said the soft voice. “What
Sarah really doesn't know is how ill she becomes around lye.”

Sarah looked at me
in horror, then spoke in a faint voice, “I've been careful with
that stuff, but its smell still puts me in the privy.”

“It's worse than
you realize,” said the soft voice. “It would be bad enough if
you used Roesmaan's lye, but the stuff that is commonly used in this
area, even if it's 'purified', is closer to something that needs
such a suite to not cause illness in many people.”

“I'm glad I
found a suit that looks like it might work for you, then,” I said.
“I'm also glad I've only smelled bad lye a few times...”

“And every
single time you used lye it made you sick, whether you noticed
it or not,” said the soft voice. “Be glad you are getting
appropriate care in the near future, as the fumes
'common' lye gives off might as well be the vapors of a chemical
weapon as far as you're concerned.”

I
went over to where Sarah was now removing the pouches so as to look
at them, and took up one. As I did, I noted the oddly changing
aspect of what was also camouflage-colored, and as I looked for the
cords that tied it shut, I not merely found them, but also the
following 'red' tag:

“Hostile environments?” I thought.
“I guess that means more than just worrying about getting shot at
or blown up.”

“It did,” said the soft voice.
“When you use those, I
would not merely put the torn-off tag – that one line next to the
triangular portion indicates where to tear it – but also put the
tag-end inside the
pouch before tying it
closed.”

“So those, uh,
alert monitors don't see it?” I asked, as I held the tag. I was
still looking for the cords tying the bag shut. “Shows up
especially well?”

“It does, and
that tag-portion does not need an alert monitor,” said the
soft voice. “There's a fairly large number of 'alerts' built into
the monitoring software used over there, so even an 'impaired'
monitoring person will notice 'toxic chemicals'.” A pause, then,
“your suspicions regarding 'alert' monitors are wise, by the way.”

“More than one
of those people on duty when we arrive, eh?” I thought, as I held
the bag by its closed end and the cords dropped out. They were an
odd 'braided' green in the light of the lantern when I held it close,
but further away, that green seemed to become mottled with darker
colors, this chiefly a blue and black; and with the lantern at arm's
distance, the cord – and indeed, the whole bag – blended in with
the darkness so well that I could barely discern its outline.
Only the red tag still showed 'well' – and I had some difficulty
seeing it. It made me wonder just when one normally gathered
'samples' on the battlefield – or wherever these things were
intended to be used.

While there was no
answer to this latest question, what I – and, I suspected at least
Sarah also – had just been told spoke volumes to me: that
'large number' of listed things didn't need alert monitoring
capacities. It only needed staffing with semi-trained people who
were awake while on duty, and most of those people on
such duty managed that passably.

“And while dark
hair is even rarer over there than it is here, it used to be far more
commonplace,” I thought. “That list is mostly a matter of what
once was an issue, and now isn't.”

“Not quite,”
said the soft voice. “That list works very well, even now,
as firstly, the same issues have been trouble since those in charge
over there took over; and secondly, they've been working nearly the
entire time since then to eliminate those things the 'commons' might
use to evict them from their positions.”

“Meaning
everything on that list is very rare, save among the hands of those
running the place,” I muttered, “and if it shows up, then it
means real trouble to those monitoring the situation.”

“One
difference,” said the soft voice. “They only installed that
monitoring equipment when the war started going 'badly' for them, and
that list therefore does not include those things made before
the war – and everything you have is either from the
mainland, or was made some years prior to those people getting that
equipment up and operating – and in both cases, it's unlisted.”
A pause, then, “only a handful of 'more-recent' additions covering
things like those sample pouches were added since that list was
compiled during the war's waning years, and that because they've been
used more-or-less unchanged since that time in non-military
applications.”

“How can it work
so well then?” asked Sarah.

“Because the
'commons' could not get those things then,” said the soft
voice, “and they weren't able to do much when they could get
the more-recently-made things like them.” Another pause,
then, “those more-recent additions are still very old, by
the way – they were written in but a handful of years after
monitoring began.”

“Then the new
equipment...”

“Newer
equipment,” said the soft voice. “The main network is used for a
great deal over there, and plugging monitors into it is merely
a matter of making them and then installing them – and it's been in
place for a very long time.”

“Just been
updated, so it's more capable?” I asked.

“That
especially,” said the soft voice. “That's why it's 'new', even
if it was originally the first network laid out.” A pause,
then, “I'd get some of those gloves and a sample-scoop, and carry
your broom in one hand and a sample pouch in the other so as to get
that sample you'll need to take those people across the sea.”

“Sample-scoop?”
I asked. “Oh, those strange stamped things I found...”

While there was no
answer to my last question, I knew when I again found the stamped
titanium scoops that they were indeed what I needed; and the gloves
showed but minutes later. Their sensation upon my hands was odd to
say the least, and when I came back to where Sarah was still
exploring matters to have them tied, she said, “now those look
likely. I'll bet they go to one of those suits.”

“They do,” I
mumbled. “There isn't one big enough for me...”

“I would not be
too sure about that,” said Sarah archly – who then had me show
her the suits in some detail. She hadn't tied the gloves on yet, and
when she looked at the end of one of the racks, she all-but shrieked.

“Here!” she
said. “Sit on that cart, and let me help you into this one here.
Katje, come here!”

The latter woman
showed as if by magic not ten seconds later, and before I knew what
was happening, I'd had my boots removed, my feet inserted into the
legs of a suit, and both women then all-but-stuffed me into
the rest of it. Once the zipper was zipped, however – Katje's help
was invaluable here, as she'd learned how to get in and out of these
suits without any help – I found the suit to be oddly calming. It
seemed a cocoon, or a refuge of sorts, and when I thought to stand,
Katje brought over some odd-looking boots.

“These might fit
you, and then they might not,” she said. “If that wolfram is as
bad as I think it is, and you're going to go after some that isn't
'dead', I think you'll want the entire kit to these things.”

I was about to
protest when Sarah nodded, then said, “I think it might help, and
not just for collecting up some of that stuff.”

“What?” I
asked. My voice was preternaturally calm, for some reason.

“I think you
might want another dose first,” said Sarah – who then did so so
rapidly that all I could do was swallow the stuff dumbly.

“I heard that
part about how lye acts as if it were one of Hans' worst
gaseous fumigants,” said Sarah, “and I suspect collecting up a
sample of that tungsten isn't much better.” A pause, then, “I
think it might help in other ways, also.”

“H-how?” I
asked. “The mask?”

“That, and this
clear plate that covers that hole where your face is,” said Katje.
“Sarah, he needs to get partly out of that suit so the mask can be
fit, as it goes inside the suit.”

“How..?”

Again, I was
unable to protest, for within less than a minute, I had the
respirator put in place save for the mask itself – and now, for
some even odder reason, I wanted to try it. I looked dumbly
down at the twin 'leaves' of the gas equipment's breathing bag, and
had a strange thought: I would be breathing pure oxygen, not the
usual thirty percent or so found in the atmosphere. What I heard
next was startling to say the least.

“That equipment
is good for at least four hours,” said the soft voice, “and
while the others can manage passably in this room, you're not
really up to it.”

“I thought so,”
said Sarah. “It was bad enough yesterday, but this place is
worse for trouble, as that bird isn't inclined to wake up.”

“It's
smothered?” I gasped.

“No, but it is
sleeping a good deal more soundly than I like,” said Sarah – who
I suspected had looked closely at the bird at the least. I
then recalled she'd raised these birds for some years, and had been
around them most of her life. “Now these instructions here are
strange, and I'm having trouble understanding them.”

I glanced at them
quickly, then understood: one needed to first fit the mask and its
goggles, then make certain it was 'tight' using the rear straps.
That done, both mask and 'regulator' valves needed to be turned to
their 'vent' settings, and the respirator purged of air by several
rapid deep breaths – then, and only then, could the valves be
turned to 'breathing', with the mask valve being turned first, then
the 'regulator' valve being turned to 'breathing'.

The respirator
would function automatically then, at least until either the
absorbent was 'exhausted' or it ran out of 'gas' – the gas most
likely being oxygen. Finally, one wanted to 'check' the thing's
functioning before finishing with 'suiting up', as the instructions
put it – as 'sealing' the suit took 'several' minutes, and most
people could not hold their breath that long in the event of a
malfunction.

“First check the
cylinder's gage,” said Katje as she took the instructions back from
me and looked at Sarah. I could not see the gage – which
was something I would wish to rectify had I been the designer.
“It says it's full. Then, that canister's contents, which should
be green. If they're not, it needs a new one.”

“They're green
as grass,” said Sarah. “New grass, that which is just
sprouting.”

“That's what is
wanted,” said Katje – who then turned to me. “Turn the mask
valve to 'vent'.”

I did so, then
tentatively put the huge and clammy-seeming mask on my face. Sarah
then helped arrange the two hoses, while Katje did something to the
rear of my head with the mask's straps.

“Now breathe,”
said Katje, as she turned 'something' on my chest. A furtive hissing
sound seemed to come from everywhere at the same time, and with the
first breath, I tasted a faint aura of 'rubber' and felt a sense of
relief that quickly grew stronger with each further breath – until
after several such deep and rapid breaths, I turned the mask valve
fully in the opposite way, that being to 'breathing'. Katje then
turned the valve on my chest.

“How do you
feel?” she asked. Sarah was looking at me as if I had somehow
fainted – or had 'died' – and had just come back to life.

I nodded, now
feeling somewhat sleepy and too tired for words; and then, I
absent-mindedly wiped my head.

“You were
smothering, weren't you?” asked Katje.

For some reason, I
agreed with her, and nodded again.

“Now we can do
you up the rest of the way,” said Katje – who made me wonder for
a minute, until I realized she'd been in one of these suits but a
short time prior. “I think you should keep wearing that thing,
suit and all, until we're done in here.”

“What if he must
talk?” asked Sarah.

“Speak,” said
Katje.

I did so – and
to my complete surprise, I could actually speak. Granted, it
was muffled and a bit distorted-sounding, but I could be heard
and understood.

“This part here
needs hooking up first,” said Katje. “It goes over his ears, and
then it takes this... It needs a battery, and I do not see
one.” Katje sounded as if she knew what the device in question was
– which surprised me greatly until I recalled the pictures in what
she was looking at.

“Is this it?”
asked Sarah – who held up a rectangular black plastic 'block'. It
was roughly as long as her hand, nearly the same width, and perhaps
an inch thick, with a rubbery-looking case and a small 'strap' to
hang it.

I nodded, then
thought, “it needs charging, though.”

Sarah nearly
dropped the thing, then in a shaky voice said, “the color just
changed from black to bright red on this dot here!”

“It's charged,
then,” said Katje, who was reading a plastic-laminated 'card' she'd
somehow found. “Now we can hook that thing up the rest of the way
and put the rest of the suit on him.” A pause, then, “he already
looks a lot better – better color at the least.”

“What?” I
squeaked.

“You were
looking very sick,” said Katje, “and I suspect you felt as
if someone was choking you, if I go by how you've been sounding
lately when you talk. Now we can finish this, and you'll feel
better, at least while we're all in this cold-room.” Katje then
turned to Sarah, and said, “those suits might not be as warm as a
good knit blanket, but they're a lot warmer than what
he's wearing, and whatever is in that cylinder there seems to
help him quite a bit.”

“Does it?”
asked Sarah, as she helped Katje hook up the rest of what I needed
before I could fully don the suit. “If it does, then we need to
take at least one of them home.”

I nodded, this
slow, relaxed, and now utterly calm. I had not been doing
well before this, I now understood. I then had a question.

“Was it all of
those preservative packets?” This came out much clearer,
even if it was slightly tinny-sounding.

“No, but asking
that gas to go to its component materials liberated enough carbon
dioxide that between that happening, those lanterns burning at peak
brightness, the lack of circulating air, and your poor health,
you more or less need to have oxygen while in this room –
which you are now getting,” said the soft voice. “I'd wear that
suit until you're done in this room, in fact, as that cursed
tungsten's 'dying' isn't helping matters much.”

“Oxides,” I
muttered. “It's removing oxygen from the air.”

“That also,”
said the soft voice. “This might not be the entirety of what you
need, but it's vastly better than doing nothing at all.”